


you don't know what it's been like (meeting someone like you)

by papered



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papered/pseuds/papered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Eames' love of patterns includes his boxers. Smiley faces, hundred dollar bills, rocket ships, dinosaurs, paisley, lipstick mouth prints, tweed pattern, flames, zebra stripes, rainbows, Union Jack, just anything ridiculous, and Arthur is all WTAF IS WRONG WITH YOU. And Eames is like, UM, OKAY, IT'S JUST UNDERWEAR, and to spite Arthur he wears a pair of really form-fitting black boxer-briefs one day and Arthur is like HNNNNNNNNGH *_____*</p>
            </blockquote>





	you don't know what it's been like (meeting someone like you)

"Fuck," Eames says, and steps forward so that there's absolutely no space between their bodies and Arthur is pressed against the wall of his bedroom. And then he kisses Arthur.

Eames' kisses are exactly like him: hot and reckless and getting a little wilder with every second. Arthur gasps into it, and it feels a little like he's burning up. He can feel Eames' long fingers making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. His jacket and waistcoat are strewn somewhere on the floor of his living room, he knows, and they'll probably wrinkle by the time he gets around to picking them up, but he really can't bring himself to be too upset when Eames has just reached up to pull the shirt off his shoulders and then _finally_ there's glorious skin-to-skin contact.

They crash into the bedside table and Arthur's pile of neatly-stacked books go flying, but he doesn't really care right now when all his focus is on getting Eames' jeans off. Eames laughs against his lips when Arthur finally manages, his fingers hot against the bare skin of Arthur's waist, and Arthur feels the heat coil tighter in the pit of his stomach.

Feeling reckless, he reaches down to slip a hand past the elastic of Eames' boxers, and is gratified to hear the responding moan.

~

That is how Arthur would have expected things to go.

This is, instead, what happens.

~

Arthur finally manages to get Eames' jeans off, and is reaching to slip his hand down the waistband of Eames' boxers when he gets sidetracked.

"Are you kidding me," he asks flatly after a pause. "This cannot be real."

Eames is still panting a little, but he looks up. "Arthur?" His hair is a mess, his expression a little wild, and Arthur is so ridiculously turned on by the look in Eames' eyes that he almost lets it go.

But then he looks down again and just. No. This needs to be talked about. "Eames, what is wrong with your boxers."

By now, Eames has recovered a little. He looks down at himself, a little bewildered, and doesn't do anything to assure Arthur that this is somehow a joke. "Darling, what are you talking about?"

Arthur really should let this go, considering that his slacks are still uncomfortably tight, but he already has Eames' attention. "You actually own _rainbow boxers_."

"They match my other paisley shirt!" Eames says automatically, in a way that makes it clear to Arthur that yes, Eames has actually thought about this.

"That is the most hideous piece of clothing I've ever seen in my life," he says in reply.

Eames gives him a fond look. "I can't believe _you stopped us in the middle_ to comment on my boxers." His expression suddenly turns lecherous. "Besides, if it offends you so much, why don't you remove it yourself?"

The idea, Arthur admits, has merit. Something in his expression must have conveyed his thoughts, because Eames laughs out loud and lets himself fall back onto Arthur's bed before lifting his hands in invitation.

Arthur follows through with record speed.

~

From that point on, Eames seems to take special delight in showing off his collection of ridiculous boxers. There's smiley faces and lipstick mouth prints and paisley patterns and honest to god _zebra stripes_ , and Arthur wonders how Eames is even real.

Eames just smiles delightedly at his reaction each time. "I love how hung up you are about underwear, sweetheart."

However, Arthur _does_ take great pleasure in getting the monstrosities off Eames as quickly as he can each time, so he supposes he can't complain too much.

(He might even rip a few pairs in his eagerness. A few of the more hideous pairs. You know, just by accident.)

~

 

They've just finished another extraction in Florida. It didn't take long, but before that Eames was gone for two weeks in Geneva, and before _that_ Arthur had been roped into a one month job with Dom in Caracas.

It's been over a month and a half. When they finally get to the hotel room they're sharing, Arthur barely has time to pull the door closed behind them before he finds himself pressed against the closest flat surface. Pulling off his own clothing as quickly as he can, he reaches out next for Eames. Not one to wait passively, Eames leans forward to fist one hand in Arthur's hair and give him a bruising kiss, the other hand reached down to help with the undressing.

Arthur looks down, lips curved into a small smile and a comment about Eames' newest boxers already on the tip of his tongue - because he hasn't seen it yet but he has no doubt that it'll be hideous. He's in for a surprise though, because what he sees stops him in his tracks instead.

The form-fitting black boxer-briefs look tight - _really_ tight - and Arthur feels himself flushing hot and going breathless. _Fuck,_ he thinks.

"Fuck," he says out loud.

"That's the idea." Eames shoots him a lewd grin, and slowly presses a thigh between Arthur's legs, his hand shifting down to rest suggestively on Arthur's hip. Instantly, whatever blood left in Arthur's brain rushes down to the lower half of his body, and he can't help canting his hips forward.

Eames still has that cocky half-smirk on his face, the one that says he knows exactly how much Arthur wants this. Arthur doesn't care. "Off, _now_ ," he manages to say, followed by a quieter " _Eames_ " that comes out more pleading than he'd intended.

Eames' expression softens, just a little, but there's still an edge to his smile that has Arthur shivering involuntarily. "I'll take care of you, darling," he says, voice smooth like dark chocolate as he guides them backwards. When they get to the bed, he hooks a leg behind Arthur's and pushes Arthur onto the fresh sheets before leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of Arthur's mouth.

Arthur lets himself go.


End file.
